


loathe to carry on like this

by woodland_elf



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, EVERYONE'S HUMAN, Jaeger Pilots, Major Illness, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Multi, aww yeah Pacific Fucking Rim, tagging a lot of things to be safe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 10:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14041998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodland_elf/pseuds/woodland_elf
Summary: Kaiju strike. Humanity builds giant robots to punch them in the face.The last of the Jaeger Program hides in Sitka, Alaska. This is where they intend to make their last stand: at the Skyhold Shatterdome.





	loathe to carry on like this

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really fucking excited for Pacific Rim: Uprising to come out in a couple days so here's the Cullen/Lavellan Pacific Rim AU that absolutely nobody fucking asked for

It was hard to think over the rapid heartbeats of the chopper blades.

Dark gray ocean blurred and bled in all directions on the other side of the thick plexi-glass window. It would have wowed her, moved her, at a different time, in a different life. Now Astoria watched grimly, chewing on her lower lip, as the helicopter finished its swing around and faced the coast of Baranof Island, just off the coast of Alaska.

She didn’t want to be here.

They’d barely given her an invitation. No formal “How do you do” or “Would you mind?” Instead, the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps sent two suits to collect her and stuff her onto a plane to Juneau. At the abandoned Juneau tarmac, a whole team of suits waited and funneled her onto the helicopter that took her to Sitka, where the last functioning Shatterdome stood on broken legs.

Astoria had laughed when she was handled by twelve PPDC soldiers and put on the chopper. It was as though they were afraid she would run off into the Alaskan wilds, widely abandoned by anyone and everyone. _Well_ , she thought wryly, _it’s not a bad idea._

She really didn’t want to be here.

But when you’re a federal ward, anyone vaguely governmental can do just about anything they want with you. Talk about an abuse of power.

She closed her eyes and counted to thirty as the chopper landed down on the aircraft deck of the Skyhold Shatterdome, and she knew deep in her gut that this would be her last stand.

 

__

 

Commander Rutherford zipped up his parka and ground his teeth together as the fierce winter wind snapped at his face.

“It’s gonna be a bitch of a season,” remarked Marshal Pentaghast at his side. Cassandra looked cool as ever, as though the wind was barely ruffling her short-cropped hair. Cullen couldn’t understand it. Cassandra hailed from northern Chile, where the sun and the days were always warm. And yet she seemed perfectly at peace in Alaska. Cullen would give anything to be at his beach house in New Zealand, where the waters and the air and even the bloody rain was warm.

He would give anything to be there again, you see, because the Kaiju destroyed it all ten years ago.

“Any hope the temperatures will deter the Kaiju from attacking us here?”

Cassandra shrugged. She led Cullen across the rain-soaked aircraft deck, hands clasped behind her back. “I put all my hope into the Rangers for that.”

The object of their attention touched down on the other end of the deck. As Cullen and Cassandra approached, he saw pair after pair of PPDC uniformed guard step out of the helicopter.

“Does she need that much security?”

“She’s a free radical.”

The free radical emerged from the darkness of the helicopter’s belly. The free radical’s hair had been buzzed nearly to her scalp, and her brown skin looked distinctly pallid. Her colorful eyes darted about the deck, and she had scanned just about every inch of her surroundings before laying a single bare foot on the wet asphalt.

“Why is she barefoot?”

Cassandra shrugged. Sea mist had already saturated her hair, and it clung to her forehead in thick locks. She moved forward to greet the newcomer.

Cullen made a mental note that free radicals, while unpaired, were extremely volatile molecules known to cause explosive reactions. He cautiously followed the Marshal.

“Astoria Lavellan,” Cassandra said when they came within hearing range, “welcome to Skyhold Shatterdome.”

The thin winter light was doing something to the woman’s face. Cullen thought her eyes were mismatched, or that the right side of her face was marred. Taking a step closer, he saw that he wasn’t wrong.

Astoria peered up at the two of them—peered _up_ because, by God, the woman barely cleared five feet tall. Her limbs were gangly and near emaciated. This was a Ranger? This woman had piloted a world-class Jaeger for two years and went solo for three hours and twenty-four minutes?

Cullen had his doubts.

“I remember your face,” Astoria squinted up at Cassandra.

He groaned inwardly. Jesus Christ, they were completely hopeless.

Cassandra cleared her throat and diplomatically stuck out her hand. “Marshal Pentaghast. This is Commander Cullen Rutherford, Jaeger Division. The journey was easy, no?”

Astoria seemed to ponder this as her mismatched green and blue eyes flickered over to Cullen. She scrunched her brows together. He could almost read her thoughts; _I remember your face too._

“I get airsick,” she said coolly, and did not meet Cassandra’s handshake.

Cullen could see the red rising in his friend’s face. Cassandra had the temper of a simmering tea kettle.

He stepped in, diplomacy taking over. “We’ll let our officers guide you to your dormitory, then. Dinner is served in the Mess Hall at 18:00, and after that, we’ve arranged a tour of the facilities for you.” He looked past Astoria and caught a glimpse of one of the PPDC guards sighing and carrying a pair of laceless white shoes in his hand. “And please take care to wear proper footwear in the facilities. The last thing we want is a delay due to a broken toe.”

The small woman barely nodded to acknowledge this before her heavy guard started to funnel her off the aircraft deck and into the hulking dark monster of the Shatterdome.

“Where did you find her, again?” Cullen muttered, and frowned at Astoria’s back.

“Haven’s Rest,” Cassandra replied, and started her way back into the shelter of the Shatterdome. “It’s a mental hospital in Minnesota.”

“Are you serious?”

“Ranger Lavellan is a competent pilot. She and her sister took down fourteen Kaiju in the two years they ran Echo Fade – not to mention that she ran _solo_ for over three hours. Even you couldn’t pilot solo for that long.”

“She’s not wearing shoes.”

Cassandra grabbed Cullen’s arm and stopped him in the middle of the aircraft deck. The first spitting of a rainstorm started to patter on their wet skulls. “You know as well as I do that we are running out of options. There are not a lot of experienced pilots left – and all the rookies at the Academy are too jacked up on egos to realize the gravity of our situation. Ranger Lavellan knows the dangers of the field.”

“Ranger Lavellan is a washed up, clinically _insane_ —“

“She’s your responsibility,” Cassandra warned. “I have work to do. You’re dismissed, Commander.”

He hated it when she did that. Cullen frowned, and snapped a salute to Cassandra’s retreating back as she stalked off inside the Shatterdome. As soon as she disappeared, he stuck his tongue out in her general direction.

 

___

 

Her room here was smaller than at Haven’s Rest. And, at Haven’s Rest, she had windows that looked out over a garden. The first snowfall of winter had just hit central Minnesota, and when the PPDC suits had escorted her from the asylum, her white shoes burst through an inch-thick dusting of snow.

The shoes in question sat on the floor next to the closed door. They were laceless and uncomfortable. Astoria usually went barefoot around Haven’s Rest.

_And please take care to wear proper footwear in the facilities. The last thing we want is a delay due to a broken toe._

Fuck that guy.

The PPDC had taken care to supply her sparse, windowless room with a bed—she tested out the mattress, it was adequately soft—and work desk, as though she were in the Academy again and had homework assignments. She opened the closet and found three sets of standard-issue uniforms and layers, and a thick parka. At the bottom of the closet she found a pair of thick-soled boots.

There were no Jaeger pilot uniforms, no flight suits. Part of her had expected to find her old leather bomber jacket hanging in the closet. _No, of course it wouldn’t be there – not after what she did to it, what she did to all of her things at the Tokyo Shatterdome._

After what she did to Echo Fade, she was surprised they brought her back at all.

Astoria silently stripped out of her plain gray shirt and sweatpants, her standard attire at Haven’s Rest. She climbed out of the plain white underwear that had been standard for the last year, and dropped all of her clothes on the smooth concrete floor like a flaky gray snakeskin.

Her arms and legs tingled with exposure to the chilly air of her room.

Where had she remembered their faces?

Marshal Pentaghast and Commander Rutherford were familiar. She’d heard of Pentaghast during Astoria’s own tenure at Tokyo. She’d never met the woman, of course. Astoria and Sorcha had jumped between Tokyo and Hong Kong and Cebu City all the time, but had never made it to the Eastern Pacific Shatterdomes.

Commander Rutherford though…his face was harder to place. She’d definitely heard the name Rutherford, though. It was impossible to tell where.

Astoria picked through the closet and pulled on the plain black underwear, bra, and socks the PPDC provided. She dressed into the issued navy colored singlet and Henley shirts—though they absolutely drowned her frame, small as they already were—and pulled on the cargo pants and tightened the belt on the last ring. She glanced sordidly at the boots, and pulled those on, too, with the stiff-lipped image of Commander Rutherford souring in her mind.

After checking the little clock on the work desk, Astoria picked up her old clothes and shoes and went looking for the garbage incinerator.

 

___

 

The Mess Hall was just like high school all over again.

Astoria felt the air at her right side, only to find it empty. She gazed out at the long skinny tables packed with dozens of people, some in uniforms, some in neon work hats, all faces turned to look at the tiny maniac who had just walked in.

A very short man leapt to his feet and started towards Astoria. His blond hair was pulled back in a bun, and a couple scars flecked through his eyebrow. “Alright Frosty the Snowman, no need to gape about like a fish. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

He was charming and warm, a kind of human magnet that Astoria gravitated toward, even before he held out his hand. Astoria shook it, though her thoughts were still scattered about the room.

The short blond man looked back at the rest of the blank faces of the Mess Hall. “Seen enough?” he barked, and most of the gazes turned away.

“That will become normal soon,” she mused, and withdrew her hands to her pockets.

“Huh. I hope. We’ve been getting incoming Rangers all week, and something tells me you might be the most exciting of them all.”

Astoria shrugged, and followed as he led her to the meal line. He handed her an empty tray. “Name’s Tethras, but call me Varric. I work up in LOCCENT.”

“Astoria. So you’ll make sure us pilots don’t fall too deep into the Drift?”

“Kid, I’m here to make sure you don’t blow up another Jaeger.”

Astoria bristled. At least someone around here wasn’t going to coddle her.

“O-Kay, dinner tonight.” Varric clapped his hands together and moved forward in the meal line. “Looks like ground beef or fish.”

“I’m vegetarian.”

“No fucking shit. Can I have your meat rations then? All right, then, barring our food with faces it looks like we’ve got beans, rice, and some kind of green colored bean. Don’t get too excited, this is the same shit we get just about every day.”

Varric led her through the meal line and led Astoria through the long, skinny tables over to an empty spot. It wasn’t quite big enough for the two of them. “Boot it, Keras,” Varric snarled at a younger looking guy, and motioned for Astoria to sit. She complied, and he sat down next to her.

A young woman with green-dyed hair perked up across the table. “Oh–Oh my—“

Varric pointed his finger at her before she could finish. “Shut it, Daisy.”

“But she’s _Lavellan,_ ” the girl Varric called Daisy leaned further over the table, and Astoria could see the wide pupils of her eyes too close for her own liking. “She went face-to-face with the first Category three Kaiju and killed it _solo!_ ”

Astoria had taken about one bite of her food and decided she was done eating.

Without a word to either of them, Astoria rose from her seat, and the room grew silent as she quickly made her way across the Mess Hall toward the double doors she’d entered through.

Not fast enough – she came face to face with Commander Rutherford just as he cleared the doors, his hair stiffly combed back and his suit pressed into clean lines. Somehow, this image of him was less familiar than when she’d seen him waterlogged and disheveled on the aircraft deck.

“Ranger Lavellan,” he said, and cleared his throat, sparing a darting glance to the mess hall behind her. “I was just looking for you.”

“You found me.”

He frowned. “Yes. Marshal Pentaghast sends her regrets, but she will be unable to give you a tour this evening. She’s sent me in her stead.”

“Great.”

Commander Rutherford tilted his head to indicate that she follow him. This was the kind of thing Astoria missed about the PPDC. No touchy-feely bullshit, no talking about feelings. It was all orders and commands and curt nods. Astoria willingly followed him out of the Mess Hall and into the labyrinthine hallways of Skyhold.

Despite the task of being her guide, Commander Rutherford was a pretty poor guide. Astoria got brief glances and short descriptions of the LOCCENT command centers, the various training rooms, Rec rooms, and the number of times that Commander Rutherford had to mutter “at ease” as they passed PPDC staff who dropped whatever they were doing to salute the man made Astoria physically tired.

In the elevator down to the research division rooms, Astoria crossed her arms tersely. Commander Rutherford looked like he was biting the inside of his cheek.

“This is delightful, and all,” Astoria started, “but, you know, no one has actually told me what you want me for.”

Commander Rutherford reached out and pulled the lever to halt the elevator in the shaft with the casual ease of grabbing for a tissue to wipe his nose. The elevator car jostled and screeched to a halt.

Astoria took a quick step back.

“This isn’t exactly something we want getting out to the rest of Skyhold staff,” he signed, and scrubbed at his jaw with the palm of his hand. Astoria noted that he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days, and there was something…wrong with his left eye. A tiny scar on his lip made it look like he was sneering. “The UN is shutting us down. Marshal Pentaghast got enough funding to last us through next summer, but we’re cut down worldwide.”

“What about the other Shatterdomes?”

“Closed. Done with. Maybe they didn’t have televisions where they dragged you from, but Jaegers have been dropping like flies across the Pacific. I’ve got three teams left, and with you, we’re hoping to make four.”

Four. It struck her in the chest. Astoria remembered, barely over a year ago, running alongside fifteen other Jaegers. All those people…

But they expected her to pilot?

“I’ve never Drifted with anyone but Sorcha.”

“Here’s your opportunity to learn.”

She barked a harsh laugh. “I don’t think you understand. I’m not looking to Drift with anyone else. I’m not looking to get back in another Jaeger other than Echo Fade. You and Marshal Pentaghast have wasted your damn time.”

But Commander Rutherford only offered a grim shake of his head. “I hope to prove you wrong, Ranger.” He reached over to the elevator panel and released the hold on the lift, and the car resumed its plunge down into the depths of the Shatterdome.

Astoria tapped her fingertips. This was all a waste of time, a huge waste of money…

The elevator doors crawled open, and Commander Rutherford stalked out, moving briskly under the clean tight lines of his suit. “This way, Ranger Lavellan.”

She followed him out past the piles of scrap metals and crates of replacement artillery. The hall opened up into a gargantuan hangar, and breath and word and thought escaped her.

“We’ve got Warden Bliss and Champion Fuego, of course. Charger Break arrives later tonight from San Diego,” Commander Rutherford pointed towards Jaegers she could care less about. “Ruby Fist is new, I saved her from turning into scrap when they first tried to shut down the Jaeger program. But I think this will be of more interest to you.”

The last Jaeger in the hangar was a little smaller than the others. Her hull had been re-painted and her visor was replaced with something sleeker. Astoria stood still, torn; feeling like her body had already fallen at her feet and frozen mid-air.

“You fixed her.”

“She wasn’t hurt too bad in the first place. A few repairs here and there…”

Astoria was already running toward Echo Fade, hear heart in her throat as she took in all that she had left of home.

 

___

 

Cullen couldn’t help but smile as he watched the Ranger reunite with her Jaeger. There would be time later, he thought, to go over co-pilot selection processes, over the Drift Test tomorrow with Ranger Rainier. He knew what it was like to lose a co-pilot and a Jaeger.

He left her to Echo Fade, his constant side-project for the last year, and made his way back to the lift. His job as tour-guide was over for now. Cullen had other work to do – unfortunately a lot of it was paperwork, and looking over recruit dossiers for the co-pilot tests.

He hoped that Rangers Lavellan and Rainier would be Drift compatible, and they could get a whole new team into Ruby Fist. Rainier had just lost Whiskey Blackwall, and hadn’t succumbed to the kind of downward spiral that Lavellan had fallen into – Cullen hoped that he could save the Ranger by pairing him with Echo Fade and Lavellan as soon as possible.

He returned to his quiet office, with its dark-colored concrete walls and noise-blocking door. He shrugged out of his uniform jacket and draped it carefully across the back of his chair, and sat down and took a sip from the half-empty glass of water on his desk.

When he pulled away, the glass and the water inside were stained red.

He coughed and quickly covered his mouth. Before he could do anything else, he felt the blood rise in his throat and spill over his tongue, seeping out through the cracks between his fingers.

Cullen stood abruptly and staggered over to the en-suite toilet. He leaned over the sink and let the blood spill down the drain, coughing up as much as he could.

It splashed over his crisp white shirt and his trousers and stained his cuffs.

“Goddamnit,” he spat, and leaned down to rinse his mouth out with water from the tap. He opened the mirrored medicine cabinet over the sink and pulled out a clear plastic bottle filled with bright blue pills. Cullen pulled three of the pills from the bottle and placed them on his tongue, swallowing them down with the leftover water and blood in his mouth.

He closed the medicine cabinet and looked in the mirror.

“Christ.”

His lips and chin were bloodstained, and he probed at his left eye. It was bloodshot again, and the pupil had dilated so wide he couldn’t see the brown color anymore.

Cullen clenched his left fist. He could barely feel the nails digging into his palm. Tomorrow, every light brush of his cotton shirtsleeve on his arm would feel like a million daggers scraping his skin.

He closed the cap of the pill bottle and tossed it into the sink, grinding his teeth at the rattle of the little blue pills inside the bottle. He stared into his reflection in the mirror. He could feel his muscles start to spasm and react to the chemolyrium as it already started to enter his bloodstream.

Cullen leaned back against the wall and clutched his left thigh as it started to shake. He was a bloody mess. But at least he wasn’t bleeding out of his throat anymore. Other vital cells were probably dying instead.

Well, if the cancer doesn’t kill him first, maybe the chemolyrium will.

**Author's Note:**

> Mmmmm yeah I'm in my second to last finals week of my undergraduate degree so instead of doing things like, studying, or preparing for graduation, I'm writing fucking PacRim fic. 
> 
> (also lol i'm sorry i keep starting new fics and not finishing them, anyone who's here from the Flour Ink and Salt universe I extend EXTRA apologies to, anyone here for "Heaven has been filled with silence" lol i'm so sorry you're in for a long wait my dudes)


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